


A New Dawn

by zarinthel



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Gen, Minor panic attack, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, because i think that should be tagged, but he's not (yet) a mafia boss, characters will be added as they show up, motorcycle, technically tsuna is TYL
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 15:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6381487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarinthel/pseuds/zarinthel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsuna is a civilian, content with where his life choices have brought him. But with the Millefiore gaining power, the Vongola have need of the next in line, the Vongola Undicemo. There is less than a month before the balance of the Trinisette is permanently destroyed. With the arcobaleno dead, and Tsuna starting from scratch, it will take a miracle to stop Byakuran in time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The air was heavy with the scent of machine oil and metal. It was pretty typical of a motorcycle repair shop, with a hint of smoke on every breath you inhaled, and the clang and bustle of a busy shop breaking up the cool morning air with human shouts and the groan of old machines. For Tsuna, it was peaceful. He had managed to get all the way through middle school with barely passing grades, and then went to a vocational school instead of attempting high school. Nana had been supportive, in her own way. She had thought that becoming a mechanic was very romantic, like his father’s construction business. It had almost been enough to make him want to go to high school instead. But then he’d looked at his test scores, and the bruises on his arms, and decided that he wanted to try something else. 

He was good with his hands, really. It was just everything else he had problems with. The bullying had not gone away when he had changed to his new career path. In some ways, it had gotten worse, as his delicate features and short stature had attracted even more attention at his new school. That was when he had started learning self defense. But that was in the past. Now, he was a 24 year old mechanic. He hadn’t seen his father in five years, and called his mother every other day. He didn’t really talk to anyone except her, though. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t talk to other people. He just didn’t want to. 

Recently, he had been working on a gorgeous motorcycle that had been painted purple and textured as if it was made of clouds. The owner was often overseas, and had taken to leaving the beauty at this garage every time that he wasn’t in town. Honestly, Tsuna was in charge of it by default- everyone else seemed to scared of the owner to dare to touch the paint. Tsuna privately thought that was ridiculous- Hibari-san would be much more likely to hurt them if he came back and discovered that his motorcycle hadn’t been worked on. Tsuna had only met the man once. There had been no words exchanged. It had been one of the better parts of a particularly bad week. 

He had been on edge all day. It was making him clumsier than usual, and he’d already dropped a wrench on his foot and walked into a wall. No one at the garage was laughing, though. They’d worked with him long enough to know that the more injuries Tsuna got, the worse the next problem was going to be. By the time he’d banged his head against something for the second time that day, people were starting to leave early, and he knew that others were about to start a very extended lunch break. By the afternoon, only Tsuna and a couple of brave or inexperienced souls were still around. 

It was an hour before closing when everything went to hell. An explosion went off, causing the loose nuts and bolts to rattle, and some of the more delicate items to shake dangerously. The explosion had sounded like it was pretty far in the distance, but Tsuna had a bad feeling, that was only underscored by the second explosion five minutes later that sent some unsecured items tumbling to the floor. 

Looking at the last remainders of the garage crew, Tsuna spoke up. “If you have family, then you should go home. If not, please help me close down the shop.” All of the people left, some sending worried looks back at him, some running towards their houses. He hoped they’d be okay. Now that the trouble had started, and there was no one around, his clumsiness was almost completely gone. Quickly but competently, Tsuna began closing to down the garage for the day. Every 5 minutes, another explosion rocked the room, a little closer than the one before. Tsuna could probably adjust his watch by the explosions. 

It made him worried, because that type of precision meant that it wasn’t an accident. Hibari-san would be mad. Finished closing the garage, Tsuna headed out front to where his motorcycle had parked. He had made it from the scrapped parts of other machines, and painted it pale orange trimmed with a light blue. There were golden flames licking along every part of it. The motorcycle was his most prized possession. Starting it up and heading home, Tsuna gave thanks to whoever was listening that his mother did not live in Namimori, where he worked. As he rode, he saw flames burning in the distance. As well as the normal orange ones, Tsuna was puzzled by the abundance of purple flames, as well as every other color of the rainbow. _Did one of the bombs blow up a fireworks factory or something?_ But there were no firework factories in Namimori.

Tsuna’s journey back to his apartment was slow going. It seemed like every street, there was someone who needed help. When he had tried calling an ambulance for a car crash, the call hadn’t gone through. He had never been more thankful that he usually brought his tools home from work. Prying the car door open, he had been careful to check that the woman who was calling for help did not have a spinal injury before pulling her out of her car. He didn’t want to make anyone worse. The man in the other car was harder because he was unconscious, but at least his only noticeable injury was the hole in his hand. Tsuna quickly bound it up with some bandages he always kept on him for his personal injuries. 

“Thanks,” said the woman, who was noticeably calmer now, “But I can take it from here. I know where this monkey,” she gestured at the man she was supporting, “lives.” With that, the lady with short brown hair done in a sophisticated cut, slowly staggered away. Getting back on his motorcycle, Tsuna headed down another block, this time at a much slower pace. It would just be embarrassing to get in an accident so soon after helping someone else out of a similar situation. 

He was only a few streets away from his house when he had to stop again. This time, there was no car. Just a man, slowly bleeding out on the street. As Tsuna approached, the man tensed, his hand tightening around the gun that he was still holding. His urge to help overriding his urge to scream and run in the opposite direction, Tsuna went closer. When he was only a few feet away, he stopped, letting the man realize he wasn’t a threat before he got any closer. He had gotten shot at before, and the experience was not something he wanted to repeat. Now that he was closer, Tsuna got his first good look at the man’s face. He had a pompadour, the type of which was usually only seen in retro mangas & animes. But this was Namimori, which meant he was a member of the Disciplinary Committee. If he was a member of the DC, then that meant he wouldn’t shoot a citizen of Namimori. 

Relieved, Tsuna closed the gap and pulled out his trusty first aid kit. “Where are you injured?” he asked, hoping that the man had enough awareness to respond to his question. Leaning in, he listened for the man’s response. 

“Leave me,” were the first words out of his mouth. They seemed to bubble and were distorted in a way that said bad things about the lethality of the injury. “Go indoors. Namimori’s peace will be upheld.” The wheat stalk he was chewing fell out of his mouth as he spoke. “Kyouya-sama will make sure of it.” 

“Don’t talk,” said Tsuna, opening up the DC uniform, and trying to swallow back his instinct to vomit as he saw a flash of white bone piercing up through the skin. Even as he was trying to bandage the wounds, he knew that at this point, it would probably take a miracle for the guy to pull through from what was probably a punctured lung. Wiping his bloody hands on his grimy jeans, Tsuna sat down next to the dying man. 

“What’s your name?” he asked. “Do you have anyone you want to call?” The DC member drew in a harsh, rasping breath that bubbled on the way out. 

“My name is Kusakabe Tetsuya. Vice-Commander of the Disciplinary Committee, Second in Command of the Foundation.” He spoke with pride. There were flecks of blood on his face from blood bubbles that had come out of his throat when he had begun to speak. “Kyouya-sama is busy right now. Please tell him that it is an honor to die defending Namimori.” 

Tsuna could feel tears pricking his eyes as he sat beside this dying stranger. He felt powerless in the face of death. Trying to find a way for Kusakabe to survive, Tsuna once again dialed the emergency line as the next explosion went off. He really needed to head to somewhere safer- the multicolored flames were only a few blocks away from where Kusakabe lay. The emergency line was still busy. Looking through the contact list on his phone, Tsuna was dismayed to realize that besides his mother and his boss, he had no numbers listed. But his self-pity seemed superficial compared to the man next to him, who clearly had at least one friend he would die for. But Tsuna still had hope. 

“Kusakabe Tetsuya,” Tsuna stated. The name fell clumsily from his tongue. “Hibari would never forgive you if you died. And,” said Tsuna, “I have a feeling, that if you just hold on for 10 minutes, a miracle will occur.” He didn’t know why he said 10 minutes, but he knew that he would always regret it if he didn’t convince the Vice-Commander to hold on for as long as possible. Placing one hand on Kusakabe’s shoulder to reassure the man that he was not alone, Tsuna prepared to wait. 

The explosions that signaled 10 more minutes passing sent Tsuna sprawling and launched Kusakabe into another hacking coughing fit. But this time, when the dust settled, there was a man slightly older than Tsuna standing in front of them. Tsuna blinked. Not standing in front of them. _Hovering_ in front of them, with yellow flames coming out of his boots. There was a bandage across his nose, and his hair was pure white. 

“Do you extremely need help?” Asked the man. Overwhelmed, Tsuna nodded. He didn’t know what this person could do, but anything was better than nothing. At this point, it was amazing that Kusakabe was still alive. 

Dropping out of the air right next to Kusakabe, the weirdo placed his hands on Kusakabe’s chest. Then, his hands lit up the same yellow fire that had been coming from his boots. Tsuna nearly threw himself at the dangerous guy, but then noticed that the flames weren’t burning Kusakabe- actually Kusakabe was now breathing easier and Tsuna could no longer hear the gurgles that he had taken to mean that Kusakabe wasn’t going to make it. 

Relieved that Kusakabe had gotten his miracle, Tsuna looked around for his motorcycle. Now there was nothing he could do here. Right now, all he wanted to do was get to his apartment, lock the door, and pretend that the last couple of hours had never happened. If his instincts were right, _and they are always right,_ this was going to be even worse than when the earthquake had hit Namimori a couple of years ago. Taking one last look at the strange sight of healing flames that was still unfolding in front of him, Tsuna swung his leg over his motorcycle and turned on the engine. He had long ago made sure that his motorcycle made as little noise as possible- he had never felt the need to announce his presence or departure.

Back in his apartment, Tsuna leaned against his front door. _What a day._ Another explosion went off. _I hope they’re both okay._


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a week since the terrorist attack. The DC had been all around Namimori, helping with the cleanup and repair. The garage had been reopened the day before, and the entire crew had breathed a sigh of relief when Hibari-san’s bike was completely untouched. The lists of the dead, injured, and missing showed that despite the danger, only three people had died. Tsuna comforted himself with the knowledge that it could have been much worse. That was not, however, the language he used when he called his mother and reassured her that he was completely fine. _Not even a scratch, Mom, I swear._

It was exactly closing time when Hibari-san strode into the garage, looking for his motorcycle. When Tsuna brought it out to him, Hibari-san’s eyes flickered all over the motorcycle and the mechanic. Then he nodded, sharply. 

“Good work.” He said. Then he mounted the bike and drove away. Tsuna stood frozen for a second. Hibari-san could have been talking about the bike. He doubted it, not with his luck.

The next months seemed to blur together, and Hibari never came back to the shop. There were no more explosions and Namimori was even more peaceful than usual. Tsuna took first aid courses. Occasionally he’d look down at his hands, and see them soaked red with blood. This tended to end with him dropping a wrench on his foot. Life was normal. 

Then one day he woke up to a knock on the door. It was a polite knock, kind but firm. Tsuna did not want to answer the door. His entire body rebelled at the mere thought of opening the door. But his mother had taught him manners, and manners said that when someone knocked on the door to your apartment, you had to get out of bed and answer the door. Thus, Tsuna entered the door in bare feet and pajama pants. 

In the hallway stood a very tall young man with a grave expression reflected in his light blue eyes. 

“Are you Sawada Tsunayoshi, son of Sawada Iemitsu-dono?” He asked. Tsuna considered slamming the door in his face. The door was already halfway closed before he realized he was already carrying out the motions. “Please wait, Sawada-dono!” The man who knew his father cried out. “This is very important! _The fate of the world important!_ ” Tsuna stopped actively trying to shut the door, flinching from the raw desperation and grief that coated the words coming out of the stranger’s mouth.

“My name is Sawada Tsunayoshi,” he confirmed. “Who are you?” He pointedly failed to invite the distraught foreigner into his apartment. 

“My deepest apologies, Sawada-dono! I am Basil, acting head of the CEDEF.” Basil dropped into a deep bow, and continued, “I am sorry for bringing such terrible news to your door, but it has fallen on me tell you that your father, Sawada Iemitsu, is dead.” His eyes were red rimmed yet fierce as he stared intensely at Tsuna, who was at a loss.

“I...uhm...okay?” He tried, confused. “Hasn’t he been dead for years?” Basil’s eyes widened in shocked dismay. 

“Negative, Sawada-dono! Iemitsu fell in battle a few short weeks ago!” At this, Tsuna started to roll his eyes. 

“My Dad was a construction worker, Basil-san,” Tsuna said, gently. _When he wasn’t being a lazy bum,_ Tsuna added in his head. “But it was nice of you to want to tell me about him!” He hastily slammed the door shut while Basil was still frozen from shock. 

Then his knees gave way. Tsuna looked at his hands, and saw they were shaking, the muscles jittering back and forth as the quaked underneath his skin. All he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and he didn’t know why. Tsuna tried to pull himself together. He had to go to work today. He had to call his mother in the evening. He had to get dressed. _He had to stand up._

There was another knock on the door. Tsuna remained curled up in the ball. It figured that anyone who had known his father enough to be bereaved by his passing wouldn’t know when they weren’t wanted. 

“Sawada-dono!” Came the muffled voice through the door. “Sawada-dono, there are more things you need to know!” Tsuna put his hands over his ears. Maybe he wouldn’t go to work today. Maybe he should call in sick. At this point, it wouldn’t even be a lie. All of his instincts were united in telling him he didn’t, in fact, want to know what else Basil wanted to tell him. Basil had stopped knocking on the door. Tsuna did not take this as a good sign. He wanted to rewind time and never have opened the door in the first place. 

The next thing he knew was desperately rolling away from the door as wooden shrapnel speared right through where he had previously been wrapped around himself. He felt a scream building up inside his throat and choked on it, gasping and wheezing and shaking from the sudden burst of adrenaline. 

“Are you alright? Sawada-dono!?” Basil entered Tsuna’s apartment as if it wasn’t his fault that Tsuna now had a gaping hole where his door used to be. 

“What about this is _alright_?” Tsuna hissed, choosing to be mad as the much better option than having another panic attack. “Just now. I could have died from some _wood scraps_ that came from some stranger destroying my front door. How is that _alright_?” It occurred to him later that he may have been accenting the wrong part of that sentence. By then, of course, it was far too late.

~~~~~~~

“But I don’t want to be a Mafia boss.” It was the first thing that Tsuna could think to protest. He didn’t want any part of this. It wasn't a huge surprise that his dad was actually even shadier than he had thought. It was… weird that his dad had gone five years without contacting his family, but he was dead now? So it wasn’t like Tsuna could punch him. If Tsuna was the type of person who punched people. Which he wasn’t. Even if he really sort of wanted to.

“But you must, Sawada-dono!” Ah. He was still here.

“Isn’t there someone else?” Tsuna asked. It was not a rhetorical question. He really wanted there to be someone else. What type of criminal organization decided that blood relations were more important than someone who has any idea of what they’re doing. This is whole thing is a terrible idea. He would call it a terrible joke, but this is his life, isn’t it. He doesn’t want to call his life a terrible joke. He doesn’t want to hear the ring of truth in his voice. 

He pushes down the voice inside his head that tells him that the best thing to do right now his run around in circles and scream. The voice is lying to him. He needs to focus on what he does best- giving away responsibility as fast as he possibly can. 

“There is no one else, Sawada-dono.” This time it is Basil’s words that rang false. 

“You’re lying,” says Tsuna, flatly. He is still curled up in a ball on the floor. Basil has been talking to the top of his head, taking the lack of acknowledgement as permission to tell Tsuna all sorts of things he didn’t want to know about what his father has been up to. There is a pause. Apparently Basil isn’t used to being called out like that. He should be better at lying. He’s a mafioso, right? Tsuna thinks that’s what they’re called.

“You are the next in line, Tsunayoshi Sawada-dono. Even if you choose to pass the mantle on to someone else, you must first take it for yourself.” So Basil had figured out what he was getting at. That was good? That there was someone who would be willing to be involved in this mess instead of Tsuna. He wishes them the best of luck. 

“I’m not moving to Italy,” he says instead. He’s losing ground, now. He’s really not cut out for this type of thing. He wants to go home. Wait. He is home. He wants to be somewhere else. But not Italy. 

~~~~~~~

He doesn’t like Italy. The people are loud, and the food is strange, and he feels so stupid trying to talk to people in Japanese when there are so many people who are bilingual. He misses his motorcycle. He hadn’t wanted to bring it with him, afraid of it being damaged. He is aware that that fear was well founded, but he still wants his motorcycle. He poured his soul into that piece of machinery. He feels like a child, lost without his safety blanket. He does not share his newfound perspective with his escort. 

He told Basil that the first time he was addressed as the Don of the Vongola, he was leaving. He’s pretty sure that they’re still calling him that behind his back, though. Probably with an addendum of something like “puppet”. He doesn’t care what they call him, not really. He just wants to go home. It feels like it's been ages since he dropped a wrench on his foot. 

Today he will meet someone called Xanxus, head of the Varia Assassination Squad. This seems like a terrible idea. He is absolutely certain that this will end in tears- his tears, to be exact. There was a suit on his bed this morning. It was black, with pinstripes breaking up the dark lines. Beside it was a cape. Tsuna has the terrifying idea that they were tailor made for him. He does not want to wear a tailor made suit and cape. He fears it might make it look like he’s an imposter. Worse, it might make him look like he knows what he’s doing. 

As he goes down to the meeting, he is still wearing his mechanic’s jacket over some casual wear he brought with him from Japan. If he is going to die, at least he’s going to be comfortable, he thinks, semi-hysterically. Tsuna has no idea what he’s doing anymore.  
At the end of the mansion’s corridor, a pair of double doors loom. Actually, they were ordinary doors. It was Tsuna’s imagination that made the shadows stretch and the lights flicker. Probably. 

Tsuna tries to knock. The sound his knuckles produce is pathetic, easily absorbed by the thick wooden planks. Tsuna gives up, gently pushing on the doors so that they creak open.

Now he knows that someone is messing with him. There is no way that, out of all of the doors that exist in this giant mafia base masquerading as a house, it is this one in particular that has not been oiled. Tsuna scowls. He had expected something more from the Varia than a childish prank like this. His imagination had been coming up with so many different things they could have used against him. At this, shivers erupt all over his body. 

Then, he sees what is on the other side of the double doors. And promptly regrets any and all of the choices he has made in his life that have led up to this point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More praise upon all the readers that finished the second chapter! Please remember to leave a comment.


	3. Chapter 3

In the middle of the room is what Tsuna is almost positive is a throne. However, this detail is irrelevant when compared to the detail of the man who is lounging on it. The left side of his face was covered with scars, strange in that they were almost burn scars but not quite. Feathers tied into his hair gave him an animalistic vibe, though Tsuna was sure that on anyone else it would just look girly.

It is the eyes that make him freeze, his feet glued to their place on the ground. _Burnt Umber_ drifts into his mind, but really, they are the color of dried blood. Tsuna drops his eyes to the ground. Why is everyone in the mafia so intense? He doesn’t know how to deal with people who are so invested in what’s going on around them. 

“So the trash has finally arrived.” The man who must be Xanxus drawled. Tsuna gulped. His palms were already starting to sweat. “Why are you here, you useless scum?” Xanxus snarled, apparently choosing to ignore the fact that _Tsuna had made an appointment._

“Uhm,” states Tsuna, his mind choosing this very moment to become completely blank. “I heard you wanted to be the next leader of the Vongola?” He hopes that he is pronouncing that name right. It seems like something someone might have told him, but at the same time it is very likely that it falls into the category of something no one will ever tell him. 

Tsuna flinches at the sound Xanxus makes in response to his question. Then he realizes that the sound is his laughter. He had not known it was possible to convey a feeling of impending death through the vibrations of a laugh. Tsuna would have been happy to live all of the rest of his life without ever knowing this piece of information. 

The laughter cuts off abruptly. “I see those CEDEF bastards have been telling tales again. What, are you here to put me in my _place?_ ” 

“NO!” Tsuna shouts, everything in him united in protesting that assumption before he dies. “No,” he continues, just letting the words come out of his mouth, “that’s not what I want at all.” It is so important that Xanxus understand him. “I want you to be the next leader of the Vongola. You’re a much better pick than I am. I mean, anyone would be, but you seem especially qualified.” And now Xanxus is silent. 

Tsuna takes a chance and looks up at Xanxus. The assassin’s eyes are calculating, now, his face still in a way that reminds Tsuna of a tiger, crouched in wait for his prey. Tsuna does not want to finish that metaphor. And then Xanxus smiles. Tsuna thinks that there are far too many teeth showing for anyone’s comfort, let alone his. 

“Did you hear that?” He asks, but he’s not talking to Tsuna. “This shitty brat wants me to be the next Vongola Don. Thinks I’m best suited to the position.” 

“Of course you are, Boss!” Comes a slow growl from the back of the room. 

“Ushishishi, the prince thought so first.” Snickers the next voice from somewhere far too close to Tsuna. “Say something, you stupid frog.”

“Boss can do whatever he wants, sempai,” came a voice, mocking while still devoid of inflection. 

“He certainly can, can’t he?” This one’s voice was syrupy sweet, but Tsuna would never want to eat anything that one had touched. Then there was silence, as they all seemed to wait for another voice to interrupt. There was no one there, though. Everyone in the room had spoken. 

Xanxus moved past the silence like it had never been there, though his scars were slightly darker than before. Then he stands up out of his throne, and Tsuna realized he was mistaken. There was one more thing in this room. A giant tiger, and this time it is definitely _not_ a metaphor, oh god. 

Tsuna has gone right back to regretting ever stepping foot into this room. The worst thing that had ever happened to him in Namimori was that time he got involved in a gang war and nearly died, and Tsuna stops. That is probably not a good comparison. Moving on, Xanxus and his _giant white tiger_ are still walking towards him. Definitely not a good thing, but to step back now would be to admit fear, and this is not the place for that. Undoubtedly the time, but not the place. 

And so he stands there, as the rest of the Varia Assassination Squad step out of the shadows, until they are all arrayed before him, Xanxus almost close enough to touch, but not quite. 

“Say it again, trash.” Xanxus says. Tsuna was wrong, before when he thought that Xanxus eyes were the color of dried blood. Now he knows that they are burning, that they are hungry, that they seethe with a rage tightly leashed. He had known that already, in his subconscious. Now it is just staring him straight in the face. 

“I think you should be the next Vongola Don,” Tsuna says again, as plain and straight forward as he can make it. But there is something missing, and Tsuna doesn’t know what it is. 

There is no laughter in Xanxus’s voice now, just the low, rasping snarl that permeates everything he says. Tsuna knows how you get your voice to sound like that. You scream, you scream until there is no sound, and then you choke on the silence until all that sustains you is determination. 

He had hoped to never hear something like that again. This whole mafia business has been doing a pretty good job of crushing all of his hopes and dreams, huh? He wants to go home, but Xanxus is still talking. 

“It’s been ten years,” Xanxus snarls. “Ten years since that brat was named the Vongola Heir and the shitty old man invalidated my right to lead this piece of crap organization. What makes you think that you have the right to decide anything?” 

“I don’t,” says Tsuna. “You’re right, I don’t have the power.” He takes a deep breath. “But Xanxus,” _oh god, please let me pronounce his name right,_ “I don’t want the power.” Tsuna smiles, because he needs this to work. “Xanxus,” he says again. “Will you become the Vongola Unedecimo?” 

And then Xanxus smiles, and there is _so much bitterness_ in that smile that Tsuna regrets- well, he doesn’t regret what he’s said, but he regrets that he doesn’t know enough about Xanxus to figure out where he slipped up. 

“Tsunayoshi Sawada,” Xanxus says, because this is not a man that shies away from dramatics, “I acknowledge your naming of me as a candidate, and I reject that naming. Using my authority as the Head of the Varia, I officially remove myself from the pool of successors.” 

He smirks at Tsuna, who is suddenly so, so tired. “Get out, you piece of shit,” he says. And then the one with the frog hat gestures, and everything becomes sort of blurry. Not as blurry as he probably thought he was making the room, because Tsuna still knew exactly where everyone is, but blurry enough that he is just going to take that as a dismissal, having achieved the exact opposite of what he had actually wanted to do. 

But he still has one more thing that he needs to say. 

“Xanxus,” he says, “I’m sorry for your loss.” 

~~~~~~~

He doesn’t get very far before his day gets worse, which happens to him more often than it probably should. It starts with him seeing someone standing on an open balcony. Tsuna stops, and stares, and then he _feels_. And he knows that the guy is not going to jump. But he goes anyway, because he won’t be able to sleep at night knowing that he was too tired to stop someone from making a possibly permanently bad decision. 

“Hey,” Tsuna says when he gets close enough, but not to close. 

“Hey,” The man says with a smile. Honestly, the smile is enough to make Tsuna really glad that he decided to come over after all. It's not safe to let people who smile like that stand so close to the edge, it's really not.

“What are you doing out here in the middle of the day?” Tsuna asks, honestly curious. The man’s smile freezes for a second, and then he laughs. 

“I’m sorry,” the laughing man says, “I haven’t seen you around here before. Who are you?” And then Tsuna is relieved, because the man’s eyes are scary, but nowhere near as scary as his smile. 

“I’m Tsuna,” he says. “I don’t know your name?” With people like this, it's important to start at the beginning. 

“Yamamoto Takeshi,” Yamamoto says. He is puzzled, now. He’s not used to people not knowing who he is. So he’s high up in the Vongola, then. It figures. He also hasn’t answered Tsuna’s question. 

“How’s the view from up here?” Tsuna asks. It's the same question, really. Yamamoto is still smiling. 

“I can see where the Decimo will be buried,” he says. That… is both really morbid and explains exactly nothing. Tsuna really can pick them, can’t he. 

“That’s… good?” Tsuna tries. He is trying so hard. He hasn’t had a conversation this stilted since he started his last job. _Why am I doing this_. He doesn’t know. Of course, he doesn’t know why he does a lot of things. 

Yamamoto is opening his mouth to respond when another man in a suit barges in. This one has silver hair? And skull rings? What. 

“You _idiot!_ ” The man starts. Tsuna instinctively flinches back. But the comment is not addressed at him. Has this guy come to get Yamamoto off the balcony? Please get Yamamoto off the balcony. 

“Do your own damn paperwork!” Ah. The root of all evil. “If I hadn’t been stuck doing all of your stupid paperwork then maybe I would have been there when-” and then he notices Tsuna. “Who the hell are you,” he demands. “I have memorized every face that has access to this facility and I don’t remember you.” He reaches for his belt and pulls out dynamite, why does he wear dynamite on his belt, _what is going on here._

“Wait!” Tsuna calls out, waving his hands frantically. “Please wait.” Why is this so much more difficult than talking to Xanxus. On the bright side, no panic attack. So, there’s that going for it. 

“Let me introduce myself,” said Tsuna, defaulting to formality out of a lack of better options. “My name is Sawada Tsunayoshi. It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Gokudera Hayato,” Gokudera replies instinctively. Then the name connects to the information in his head. 

“You're the next boss,” he says. He starts to bow, stops, steps back, looks at him, looks at Yamamoto, looks back at Tsuna, and then walks right back out of the room before Tsuna can correct him that he’s really not. 

Yamamoto, as it happens, is also staring at him. Clearly, Tsuna should never have gotten out of bed this morning. What was he thinking. He should have known better. And yet here he is, with someone who appears to have known the late Decimo quite well. Delightful. 

“I’m not going to be the next boss,” Tsuna says. It’s important that people know that. “As soon as they find someone else, I’m going back to Japan.” Yamamoto smiles at him.

“That’s what Tetsu used to say when we first came here,” he says. Tsuna shakes his head. 

“Within the next month, I will be back in Japan,” he states. He knows what he says is true. Tsuna is… tired, now. He wants to go back to bed. He turns to go, and feels a hand on his shoulder. It is warm, and strangely comforting. He shrugs it off. He doesn’t really like being touched, anymore. It’s a shame. He’s pretty sure that he used to get some enjoyment out of it. But that reminds him. Tsuna turns back around to face Yamamoto.

“Please step away from the edge,” he says, knowing that he has no authority over Yamamoto’s actions. “It would make me feel better.” Though that has never meant anything, to anyone. Most of the time, it's all he has, so he’s going to keep saying it. With that done, Tsuna is ready to hide from people. He has not talked so much in a single day in years. He misses his motorcycle. He needs to call his mom. 

He is already on the next corridor over before looking back, and so misses Yamamoto’s expression. All in all, it's probably for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have noticed that the note from chapter one ended up at the bottom of chapter two, so sorry about that. I don't know how it happened. 
> 
> In other news, I have received two reviews!!! They are beautiful and lovely and the whole reason I am writing this.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who reads this story. Please don't forget to comment.


	4. Chapter 4

It's evening, and there is a knock on the door. Tsuna considers what happened the last time he ignored someone knocking on his door, and rolls out of bed. He needs to get back to work. It's not doing him any good, just drifting around this mansion waiting for things to be decided. He can’t do that, not if he wants to get back to Japan.  


The problem is, the best option for becoming the next Don has very adamantly refused the job, and Tsuna would prefer to avoid him as much as possible. So, he has to find another way. Basil has mentioned that the Vongola will only accept a Sky as their leader, and that him and Xanxus are the only skies they have left. Tsuna has no idea what a Sky is, but he knows that information is _really important_. He needs to find someone that can explain things to him. Not Basil. Someone who can explain things to him without mentioning his father every couple of sentences. 

For example, he knows that the Decimo was his cousin, by way of his father’s older sister, of whose existence he had no knowledge of. This is because Basil wanted to reassure him that it was not just his father who was in the mafia. Like most of his attempts at reassurance, it had backfired.

There is another knock on the door, louder than before. Tsuna hastily pulls himself out of his thoughts and heads over to open it. Then he blinks. The person on the other side of the door looks like a stretched out string bean. Ah, that was mean of him. The person is just getting used to a new growth spurt. Tsuna does a double take. That means this guy is a teenager. Tsuna does not like the idea of teenagers in the mafia. What are the Vongola _thinking_? Tsuna suspects that there is a certain lack of focus on common sense and a very big focus on tradition. 

That never ends well. Tsuna shakes his head. He’s having a hard time focusing. He needs to stay in the present. He feels… cold. Tsuna shrugs it off. “Did you need something?” He asks the teenager. _Please say you got the wrong room._

“Hello, Tsunayoshi Sawada,” the teenager says instead. “My name is Fuuta de la Stella.” Tsuna straightens up. 

“Hello, Fuuta,” he says. He was expecting something like this. “Please come in.” Once they’ve both sat down and made themselves comfortable, Tsuna breaks the silence.

“Did someone send you?” He asks. Fuuta shakes his head. 

“I am here of my own will, Tsunayoshi Sawada.”

“Please,” Tsuna interrupts. “Just Tsuna is fine.” Fuuta beams at him.

“Tsuna, then.” Fuuta waits to see if Tsuna has anything else to say, but Tsuna’s got nothing. 

“I was talking to my star,” Fuuta says. “It said to tell you of what burns within you, so that you know whom you melt when the fire burns without.” Tsuna sighed. This whole conversation was going to send him to bed with a headache, he just knows it. 

“Are you speaking metaphorically or literally?” Tsuna asks. It’s an important question. The image of a man who healed with yellow fire springs into his mind. 

Fuuta smiles at him. Tsuna is really getting sick of that smile. He’s pretty sure he knows exactly who Fuuta learned it from. “The mafia is magical,” Tsuna clarifies instead of asking. “The mafia can use weird fire.” He waits for a contradiction that does not come. _This whole thing just keeps on getting better and better._

Tsuna stares at the teenager in consideration. “Can _you_ use the weird magic fire?” He asks. He can’t believe he’s having this conversation. 

“No,” says Fuuta de la Stella. “My magic is a bit… different.” He isn’t smiling anymore. Tsuna doesn’t consider this a victory. But he also wants to know more.

“What can you do?” He asks Fuuta. “Can you see the future?” That would be a useful power to have. 

“No,” laughs Fuuta, “Nothing like that. I Rank things.” He says it like it's a big deal, but Tsuna doesn’t understand.

“That doesn’t sound like magic,” he points out. He doesn’t think Fuuta is used to explaining things to someone as slow to pick up on things as he is. Fuuta’s smile is gone again.

“I’ll show you,” he declares, quietly but firmly. “Ask me anything, and I’ll Rank it.” And he closes his eyes while gravity abandons Tsuna’s room for greener pastures. Tsuna ducks as a floating lamp nearly hits him on the head.

“Okay,” Tsuna says, covering his head protectively, “Please List the top five reasons you chose to come talk to me.” He wonders what Fuuta will say. 

“Reason number 5: I was curious about the new boss candidate. Reason number 4. I checked the Rankings, and you need all the help you can get. Reason number 3. I can feel the sky in your every breath, and it is wonderful. Reason 2. I am hiding from Xanxus because I told him that I could not rank his swordsman, as I cannot Rank the dead. Reason number 1. Sawada Tsunayoshi is the number one person most likely to see a boy when they look at me, and not a tool.” Fuuta is crying, now. Tsuna has never made a teenager cry before. This is really not a good day. 

He gets up and pulls Fuuta into a hug. He can feel the boy’s bones, and he holds him even tighter. This kid needs to eat more. Tsuna sort of wants to take him back to his mother’s house. She would never let Fuuta leave, not until he had some more meat on his bones and a lot more spring in his step. He is not a fan of this whole ‘kids in the mafia’ business that he’s sure is the norm. It’s a terrible norm. He kind of wants to destroy something. Not permanently. He’ll fix whatever he breaks later. 

But he really needs to break something. Preferably not this boy, who showed up at his door already with cracks running up and down his heart. Someone else. Something else. He meant something else. 

But he can’t leave Fuuta alone and vulnerable. So that will have to wait. 

“You’re safe now,” Tsuna croons. “This is my space, and no one can hurt you here.” Fuuta is making soft sobs against his shirt. “You can tell me about skies tomorrow,” Tsuna says. He knows that for him, sooner is better, but this is about what’s best for Fuuta. And what’s best for Fuuta is that he get some rest and then come back and talk to Tsuna tomorrow. It won’t be too late, just more difficult, and Tsuna can deal with more difficult. 

Tsuna considers trying to find Fuuta’s actual living quarters, gives it up as a lost cause, and tucks Fuuta into his own bed. He’ll sleep on the couch. It’s the first time that he’s ever been glad that the room he was given was big enough to fit both a queen sized bed and a couch. Honestly, this room is bigger than his entire flat. 

Tsuna curls up on the couch and prepares for a night of uneasy dreams and random twitches. 

 

_The sky is orange gold, dotted with fluffy lavender clouds that filter the sun’s rays in order to make the waves reflect incandescent light. Tsuna is standing on a pool of water, and it is firm and springy under his feet. He looks down, and he is wearing mechanic overalls, with his tool belt strapped around his waist. Below his feet he can see into the water, but there is no bottom, only shades of blue that become impenetrable black._

_He begins to walk, and as he walks a young girl walks beside him, and in her eyes are the depths of the ocean. He turns to look at her, but she is too far away for him to touch. Their eyes meet, and the water ripples._

_She begins to speak, and he knows what was promised, and what was bound, and what shall be. She wears white, but that is wrong. How can it be all colors when there is no green? He sees the stars in daylight, and they cry rivers of unshed tears. Behind her, the sky is tarnished, and the water does not bend the light. The girl is speaking again. This time, she uses words._

_“Help me,” she begs, “Five minutes for eternity.” And then she is gone, and all that is left is the golden sky overhead and the water beneath his feet. Tsuna stays there for quite some time. It reminds him of something he’s seen before, gold and blue and his sanctuary from the ills of the world._

_Tsuna looks up towards the sun behind the clouds, and sees that the sun is a firebird. Its rays are feathers that turn to warmth as they fall into the ocean. Where they touch the water, ice forms shatterglass patterns that dance and break and form again._

_He reaches out to feel the brush of falling feathers, but when he looks it is his hands that have turned to ice. Above him, cracks begin to form in the sky as Tsuna loses his footing-_

 

Tsuna wakes with tears in his eyes, and the dream slips from his grasp, to hide in his subconscious until it is the proper time to be remembered. The rest of the night, he does not stir.

~~~~~~~

Fuuta wakes Tsuna up as he climbs out of bed and accidentally walks into a wall that probably would have been a door in his own bedroom. Or maybe he’s just the type of person that walks into walls from time to time. Tsuna certainly can’t judge anyone else for that.

But Fuuta seems to be in good headspace this morning. Today is already starting out on a much better note than yesterday. Clearly, things can only go downhill from here. Okay. So, Tsuna needs to get this conversation restarted, without going into bad places. He can do that. Maybe. Somebody please save him from being a responsible adult. He’s pretty sure he’s doing it wrong.

“Fuuta,” Tsuna starts. Using people’s names is important. “What colors can the flames be?” Ah, that was probably too abrupt. Maybe he should have started by asking about Fuuta’s well being, which he also cares about. Why is talking to people so _hard._

“Nevermind.” Tsuna is a mess. “We can talk after you eat something.” Tsuna’s stomach grumbles. “After _we_ eat something.” 

Yesterday, Tsuna did not eat breakfast. He actually can’t remember when he ate, but he’s sure that he must have had something. So he lets Fuuta show him to the place where a buffet table it set up. Apparently is an all day everyday kind of thing. His favorite type. 

The place is deserted except for the waitstaff, and Tsuna has never been more grateful for the weird hours he keeps. There is no rice, which is awful, but there is other stuff that looks edible so he’ll just have to make do until he gets back to Japan. Maybe he’ll visit his mother. He’s been missing her cooking a lot lately, and she’s always happy when he drops by. 

“So tell me about the flames,” Tsuna says, in between mouthfuls of food. “Unless you don’t want to anymore,” he adds, because he does not want to pressure Fuuta into anything. There has been far too much of that going on already. 

But Fuuta looks excited to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Fuuta was actually not planned to have such a big part of the story, but here we are. Please talk to me about his characterization, i want feedback.
> 
> Also, thank you so much to my reviewers! you are all wonderful people, and i do read and treasure every single comment that you make.


	5. Chapter 5

“There are seven types of flames,” Fuuta says, “A different color for each.” He grins at Tsuna. “They are also all named after weather patterns,” he adds. Tsuna sighs. He doesn’t know why he had expected this to make any sense. It appeared that the more something had to do with the Vongola, the less sense it made. 

“Red, for the storm. This is the flame of Destruction. Blue, for the rain. This is the flame of Tranquility. Yellow, for the sun. This is the flame of Activation. Green for lightning-”  
“Lighting isn’t green,” Tsuna says. Fuuta rolls his eyes. 

“Each is for a color of the Rainbow,” he says. “One of them had to be green.” 

“But why,” Tsuna asks, “were they named after _weather patterns_.” Fuuta shrugs, taking another bite of his breakfast. 

“Ehh, who knows.” He went back to talking about lighting. Tsuna feels that the reason for the weather pattern naming system was probably a bad joke that was taken too seriously. Or it could actually be really important and symbolic? Tsuna considers what he knows about the people in high positions in the Vongola. Probably a bad joke, then.

“-- Indigo for the mist, but most mist users have slightly differently colored flames, lighter or darker or bluer or purpler…” _Great_ , Tsuna thinks. _How helpful_. “Their flame is Construction. Purple for cloud,” At this Fuuta looks around furtively, as if he thought that merely mentioning that word would summon something. “Their flame is Propagation.” _That doesn’t sound very threatening_. Fuuta seems distracted.

“You said seven flames,” Tsuna prompts him. “That was only six.” 

“Oh yeah!” Fuuta says, startled. “Most people don’t talk about the seventh one, since it's so rare. But you’ve got the Blood of the Vongola, and you're next in line and everything. Of course you need to know.” At this he smiles sheepishly. “The seventh flame is orange, for the sky that holds all of the other elements. The sky’s ability is Harmony, and it is within their capabilities to create a Resonance between all of the other flames.”

“A Resonance?” Tsuna asks.

“It’s also known as a Guardian Bond. Resonance is an older term for the same phenomenon. A Sky generally attracts people of the other elements, and sometimes bonds are formed. The Vongola bosses are famous for always having a full resonance.”

“So you don’t _need_ a full Resonance,” Tsuna clarifies, regaining the appetite that he had momentarily lost. 

“No.” Fuuta shakes his head. “Most Skies don’t. The Cavarone boss only has one guardian.” 

“The Cavarone boss?” Tsuna questions. “Wait. Have I ever met a Sky?” Fuuta gives him a weird look. 

“Uhm… have you meet Xanxus?” Fuuta asks.

“Yes, I’ve met Xanxus, but I don’t see what… oh.” Tsuna finished. Then he winced. There had only been four other people in that room besides Xanxus. 

“He already lost two Guardians?” Tsuna’s voice cracks. 

“Only one,” corrects Fuuta, his eyes darkening. “Xanxus has never has a cloud Guardian.” 

“I guess that’s...better?” Tsuna replies. He wonders why Xanxus has no cloud guardian. There’s probably a story behind that, but it's unlikely Fuuta knows it. Besides, it would be rude to ask about it behind Xanxus’s back. 

“So,” Tsuna starts, wracking his brain for what else he needs to know, “What flame type do you think I am?” 

Fuuta stares at him blankly. “Sky, of course.” He says. “I could feel you from the moment you entered the mansion grounds.” Now it is Tsuna’s turn to stare in shock.  
“But I’m not special,” He says. “I’m nobody.” _I’m worthless ___. He doesn’t say that part out loud. He thinks that Fuuta heard it anyway. Tsuna clears his throat uncomfortably. “So I’m a Sky. can I… do anything cool? Make flames come out of my feet?” Tsuna’s not sure if he actually wants to be able to do that. Fuuta giggles. It’s a good sound.

“No, silly,” he says. “You need a Channel in order to use flames.” Then Fuuta’s eyes darken. “You might not be able to use them at all,” he cautions. “The flames are fueled by the will to defy death.” 

“Oh,” says Tsuna. He unconsciously presses his hand into his side, biting down on phantom pain. “But there’s no reason that I should have to use them, right? Not if I manage to put someone else in charge.” Then Tsuna blinks. “What exactly is a Channel?” he asks. 

Fuuta shrugs. “Most of the time it's a weapon.” Tsuna sighed. Of course. Mafia. He didn’t know what else he was expecting. Tsuna opened his mouth to ask more questions when the doors banged open. 

“Coming through, coming through, important person, coming through! I, Lambo, am coming through!” It's a person in a cow print suit. It’s a _teenager_ in a cow print suit, Tsuna corrects himself. Another teenager, joy. 

“Hello Lambo!” says Fuuta, smiling at him. “This is the Vongola Unedecimo!” He’s back to the smile Tsuna doesn’t like. 

“No I’m not,” says Tsuna. 

“ _Traitor_ ,” hisses Lambo, who storms out the same door that he came in. Tsuna stares at the still swinging doors. 

“Who was that?” He asked Fuuta, looking at him. Fuuta’s hands were trembling. Well, Tsuna’s good mood hadn’t been destined for anywhere but a trash heap anyway. 

“T-That was the Decimo’s Lightning Guardian, Lambo,” said Fuuta. Poor kid, that seemed like the kind of spat that happened between close friends. Not that Tsuna had any personal experience, but the theory was solid. 

“Where’d he go?” Let’s not ask personal questions, let’s avoid personal questions… 

“The Decimo’s funeral is this afternoon,” said Fuuta, quietly but steadily. “If he kicks up a big fuss right now he might disrupt the ceremony.” Tsuna very carefully does not slam his head into the table. He really needs to get the ball rolling on this ‘picking another successor thing. Time is passing him by, and all that. 

“You’re going to have to attend,” Fuuta interrupts Tsuna’s spiraling thoughts. 

“Attend what?” Tsuna does not want to. 

“The funeral,” says Fuuta. Every time the word falls from his lips, he shivers a little bit, like he can’t believe the sounds are really coming from him. It’s a sad, sad thing. Tsuna doesn’t want to think about it. 

“I don’t have a suit,” he says instead. He knows that's not a good reason, or even a good argument. It’s only breakfast and all he wants to do is go back to bed. 

_~~~~~~_

So far, this funeral has consisted of a staggering amount of strangers who tell him he looks just like his father. Not only is this a terrible, terrible falsity, it is making him want to do something drastic. Xanxus is in attendance, and is watching the trainwreck in not at all concealed amusement. Tsuna thinks he’s seen one of them taking bets. Strike that, Tsuna knows they’re taking bets. 

The Decimo’s coffin is covered in white lilies. Wrong, wrong. Skies shouldn’t wear white, it's not good. Even skies that wear crowns of dirt shouldn’t cover themselves in white. Wrong, wrong. Where’s your flame, Decimo? The lilies sway, and Tsuna can see the outline of a fox curled on top of the coffin. He blinks, and it fades away.  
The Guardians stand in front of the coffin, backs facing the rest of the crowd. Silver hair and Yamamoto stand side by side, next to the teenaged Lambo, a blue haired girl, the yellow flame user from Namimori, and Hibari Kyouya???? _What the hell, Hibari-san_. There is a priest, but he speaks very quietly. Or perhaps Tsuna’s ears are buzzing? Who knows. 

Fuuta, for reasons unstated to Tsuna, refused attend the ceremony. 

Tsuna dives out of the way as the ground dissolves beneath his feet. He is screaming, he notes. Also, his phone is ringing. That’s his mom. That’s definitely his mom, thank goodness that she didn’t call before this life and death situation, he would definitely have died of embarrassment if she’d called during the Mafia Funeral. Because habit will be his undoing, he reaches for his phone and answers it. 

“Hi Mom,” he says. He drops to the floor as a stream of fire goes directly where his head would have been. “Sorry that I didn’t call yesterday, you know how vacations are.” He does not know, actually, because he has never taken a vacation in his life. 

“Of course, Tsu-kun,” says his mother. She giggles. “It’s good that you're having fun!” 

“Yeah,” says Tsuna, rolling on the ground to put out a fire on his tailor made suit jacket. “Fun.” There’s a bit of a clatter from Mom’s side of the phone. 

“Oh dear,” says his mother. Tsuna starts paying a lot more attention to her side of the phone call. 

“Is everything alright?” He asks her, his gut already giving him the answer he _really doesn’t want._

“Oh, I’m sure it’s just a small disturbance, Tsu-kun,” says his mother. He needs to be back in Namimori right this instant. “It’s just that we seem to be having a very big celebration? With lots and lots of fireworks!” She tells him. If there’s magic flames, then surely someone knows how to teleport across the world. His mother is coughing slightly. “My, they seem to be kicking up a lot of dust.” She chuckles. “Youngsters these days, so enthusiastic!” The Varia have a private plane, don’t they? Tsuna considers his options. 

“How dare you violate the tenth’s ceremony!” A slightly familiar voice screams from behind him. Followed by a giant, very disruptive BOOM, of course. Tsuna’s phone falls from his hands and cracks against the traditional Italian flagstones, shattering. It was a very cheap phone. Tsuna stares at his only line of communication with the most important person in his life. Drastic measures, indeed. 

He’s always been good at drawing the wrong kind of attention. 

Tsuna cups his hands around his mouth. 

“Hibari Kyouya!” He screams. “Namimori is under attack!” My mother needs help and I am stuck here, in Italy. I hate Italy so much, it’s truly unbelievable. Around him, the world explodes in purple fire. It feels soft. 

“Sawada Tsunayoshi,” says Hibari-san. He blinks, once. Then smirks. The smirk is very, very worrying. He disregards everything around him, due to the fact that most things- _people_ \- things are exploding around him whenever they get to close. Then he grabs Tsuna by the collar of his shirt, and jumps about fifty feet in the air, grabs a helicopter rope, and pulls them both up. Tsuna is witness to very little of this, having very sensibly fainted on contact. 

When he comes to, the first thing he sees is Kusakabe, chewing on that very strange grain of wheat. 

“Ah,” says Tsuna, emphatically. He doesn’t know what to do. Kusakabe helps him up off the ground. 

“Kyouya-sama threw you out of the helicopter when we reached Namimori,” he says, which explains far more than it ought to. Urgency immediately rushes back through Tsuna. 

“Are the residents okay?” he asks. Please, _please_. 

Kusakabe nods. “Only some minor wounds.” For all that what he said is very positive, his face is grim indeed. “Will you be returning to Italy?” he asks. What is it with people asking things that Tsuna does not want to answer. Why. 

He takes a deep breath. Sacrifice for what you believe in is important, it is so important. 

“No.” He says. “I’m not going back.” 

Kusakabe says nothing, shadows dark across his face. “Kyouya-sama is like-minded,” he says. “He will not remain in Italy if the consequence is people daring to touch Namimori.” 

It’s Tsuna’s turn to nod. _Five minutes to eternity_. 

“In the end, it will be the same,” he says. 

“That’s good to hear,” says Kusakabe. 

“What’s good to hear?” Tsuna asked, confused. Then he shrugged it off. “It’s good to see you up and about,” he told Kusakabe. Then he turned around and started heading for his childhood home. He needed to check on his mother, make sure that she was alright. Sleep in a proper Japanese bed. Go find some of his old tools. Wait for the laughing man. 

Time is running out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is Moving! finally! were getting to the part i Actually Planned, this is great

**Author's Note:**

> I put smaller khr snippets on my tumblr, https://www.tumblr.com/blog/zarinthelwrites
> 
> This work is also crossposted on ff.net, if you prefer reading on that site instead.


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